Roses are red, violets are blue, I'm a lucky Valentine, how about you?

To my first Valentine, Mi Miguelito:  Thank you for loving me, for being my partner in crime on everything good and bad, and for always having a hand to hold.  Thank you also for the gift of my other favorite valentines, our beautiful children and the incredible way you are their Dadda – I’m so glad they take after you!  I love you Mike!

To my second Valentine, my Little Man:  I can’t imagine my life without your constant conversation, your incredible insight, and the way you better than anyone else in my life always know exactly when I need a hug, even if you’re the not-so-great-reason I need it right then!  Thank you for telling me you will “always love me” even if I’m mad at you.  And for all the great things you do that make me not mad, but incredibly, incredibly proud!  I love you Adrian! 

To my third Valentine, my Beanie:  You were God’s shining grace in our lives when you arrived a few years ago, and have continued to be so.  You share so many things I don’t deserve – from the best hugs ever, to the way you love everyone from Dadda and me to your brother and baby dolls.  Thank you for sharing God’s sweetness, energy, smiles, thoughts, silliness and snuggles all through your own!  I love you Lilly!    

To my fourth+ Valentine, my (big) family:  From those couples who started it all a few generations ago, to those parents who continued it in their raising and loving me, to those siblings who help me understand life’s realities from reconciliation to gut-splitting-laughter, and even to those extended family members who just know how to be not just family but friends, and how to be there for one another no matter how far apart or how BIG our family gets – here is to my (big) family and all the ways they have lived and shared love over the years!  I love you all!  

My Wooden Anniversary

Did you know that the traditional wedding gift for the fifth anniversary is wood?  This was recent news to me.  I knew silver, and golden, but wooden?  How romantic?!  Of course there are those who shun the traditional route, who have come up with their own "modern" traditions for anniversary gifts, who claim that five years is the "silverware" anniversary.  (I can't decide if that is a step above or below wood honestly)  I can not help but wonder a bit about these gift choices.  I'm someone who likes to put a lot of thought and planning (and sometimes my own "craftiness" - quotations used for a reason) into the gifts I give, so I wonder what the reason for such gifts as wood and silverware is meant to be, what thought they are meant to convey.  What do they say about the persons giving, the one receiving, and their relationship?  
 
When I hear "wood" I think of simplicity, of what is natural.  And I think of growth - of the wood of a tree, planted and slowly but surely stretching towards the sky and bearing foliage and fruit.  

When I think of "silverware" I am reminded of the two things that surround my family's meal times and what our silverware are usually torn between - offering nourishment, and creating messiness.  But I also think of togetherness - the way that meals bring people together, and offer an excuse to just sit and spend time reveling in family, friendship, community.  I wonder if the gifts of wood and silverware are meant to signify the same things.  Are they a symbol of the simple and natural love between peoples, of the ways in which a couple has or hopes to continue to grow over the past five years?  Are they gifts of the nourishment and messiness that wrestle together in daily life because of our being with and loving some one?  Of being together - for five years or a lifetime? 

I ask these questions, because I myself am celebrating an anniversary this week.  A "wooden/silverware" anniversary. 

This past weekend marked this blog's fifth anniversary.  That's right, it was November 17th, 2008 when I put my first post on the internet for all the world to see.  Wow, looking back!  Since then this blog has served a few purposes - sharing photos (aka my "brag book"), sharing reflections (aka my "practice space" for being smart and author-like someday), and sharing happenings (aka my "memory box" for when I'm old and want to remember what it was like to be "young," or naive at least).  My posting style has been inconsistent, my posts few and far between, and my grammar no doubt something for past writing instructors to cringe about.  But I'm trying. 

I'm trying because I am a simple woman, one who hasn't yet grasped Facebook or Twitter, yet is looking for a place to share my voice.  I try because I am a seeker - seeking to understand the natural relationship between myself, the universe, those I share it with, and the One who created it all, and I am in need a way to process my explorations.  I try because I know there is more to me than the me I know now, and I long for a space where I can look back some day and see (hopefully) how I have grown - as a writer, as a mother, wife, as a disciple, as me. 

I try because I love writing, and though I'm still learning and have a long way to go, I am filled by the nourishment I receive from having a place to do it.  I try because there is so much messiness in my days - in my motherhood, in my church, in my anxiety, in my mind and heart - that I desire a way to sort it all out, cut it apart and try to find the life-giving fruits (or tiny seeds at least) within it.  I try because I want my husband to happen back upon a post someday and realize again how much I love him and why I married him, or my children to find my blog files on our out-dated computers someday far in the future and know that their Momma put her heart and soul into their happiness (even if she screwed up a lot along the way) and that our togetherness was the greatest thing that ever happened to her. 

I try because I am little more than a hunk of wood, slowly being whittled into something...something more, something hopefully unique and well-crafted.  Because I am little more than a utensil, slowly trying to fill up places or moments of lack with those of abundance.  I try because I am little more than a child of this universe; and yet, here in this blog space I am able to keep striving to see how grand that actually can be.  How beautiful wood, shaped the right way, can be.  How powerful a utensil, held by the right hands, can be.  How beautiful a Child of the Universe, who keeps trying, can be.  And so, I try.  

I try here on this blog.  And I try in life.  


So happy wooden anniversary to Child of the Universe!  Happy silverware anniversary to me!  Here's to five more years of inconsistent, few and far between posts of life's simplest and messiest, most natural and most nourishing, moments.  Here's to making it to my "tin/aluminum" anniversary and all the growth and togetherness that will happen between now and then!   

May we all be so lucky as to receive the gifts of wood and silverware in our lives.  Or better yet, to give them.  May we all keep trying!  



- - - - - - - -
As I look back at my time blogging here, here are some of my favorite posts/reflections of the past five years (in no particular order): 
* To the Woman I was Three Years Ago
* Why J is my favorite letter
* No Limits
* Holy Sponges
* Faith Like a Child
* Photographs (poem)
* Can I get your Boogers? (poem)
* Snow day (poem parody)
* Use Your Words
* Simple Laughter (Laffy Taffy)
* What's in a name? 
* Blue Ribbon for Hoarding
* Birthday poems: Adrian & Lilly
*Advent Series: Week 1, Week 2, Week 3, Week 4 & Christmas

(This was supposed to be a "Top Ten" list, but I never have been very decisive.  I guess I will keep trying on that too!)  

My brothers and sisters

I recently returned from a trip to Kenya.  I was part of a group of eleven delegates from throughout the St. Cloud Diocese traveling to our partner diocese of Homa Bay in western Kenya.  As was my first journey there in 2006, it was beautiful.  The colors, the landscape, the music.  But most of all - the people.  Truly beautiful! 

It is difficult to find the words, nor do I think that any sort of blog posting could accurately reflect all that I continue to learn and feel through my involvement with our partners in Homa Bay, on this journey let alone over the years.  So I once again am going to borrow words from someone else.  Below is a reflection I love from the Maryknoll Book of Inspiration, originally by Anthony de Mello.  For quite some time I've found this reflection deeply lovely and true; it is why I do the ministry I do and what I strive to help others towards on a daily basis in my work and faith.  But it sits in a place even deeper now, even more lovely to me and far more true, at this time following my weeks in Kenya and the people - the brothers and sisters - I was blessed to be with there.  

How we see

A guru asked his disciples how they could tell when the night had ended and the day begun.

One said, "When you see an animal in the distance and can tell whether it is a cow or a horse."

"No," said the guru.

"When you look at a tree in the distance and can tell if it is a neem tree or a mango tree."

"Wrong again," said the guru.

"Well, then, what is it?" asked his disciples.

"When you look into the face of any man and recognize your brother in him; when you look into the face of any woman and recognize in her your sister.  If you cannot do this, no matter what time it is by the sun, it is still night."

(Anthony de Mello, from Anthony de Mello: Selected Writings, edited by William Dych, S.J.) 

It gets dark in Kenya (really dark), but it is never "night."  The people know how to truly see Christ, see their brothers and sisters, in those they meet.  Although I have been trying to avoid the "photo album" posts, in this case I cannot resist sharing more photos than you care to actually look at.  Because to me, they're more than just photos - they're day!  Here are some of the snapshots of my brothers and sisters I was blessed to walk with in Homa Bay: 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

To these, the many more captured by my eye's lens rather than camera lens, and to the billions more all over the world yet to be met but who have still captured a piece of my heart simply by being my brothers and sisters in our creation by the same loving, creative and diverse GOD - I thank you!  Thank you for seeing me as your sister!  

I pray I can return and pay-forward the favor.  And thank you GOD for giving me such an amazing family!  

 

"In mercy and in love, unite all God's children wherever they may be"

What's in a name: October 15th prayers

I spent years laughing at the episode.  The episode of  "Friends" where Chandler's co-worker calls him "Toby" and has for years, because once he started it was too awkward to correct him, so he just kept allowing it...until it got complicated.  (Watch the clip here)

Years laughing at it, that is until it actually happened to me.  That's right, the owner and primary worker at the Curves where I work out regularly started calling me "Katrina."  I thought I'd corrected her but she kept at it; and in my passive, non-confrontational way I made sure that the other employees there knew my real name so maybe when they left notes about me or talked about me, she'd catch on.  But no.  I remained "Katrina" for years!  Finally, about two months ago, when she looked at the computer and announced to me that she'd spelled my name wrong, and then proceeded to spell it out loud, correctly, I finally told her that "K-a-t-e-r-i" is actually my name.  Then in front of the whole group of women also exercising at that time, we practiced its pronunciation.  I think she may have it down now...hopefully.  

But it really got me thinking about what is in a name.  Why did it bother me so much to be called something different?  Why did I want so badly (though not badly enough to enter the awkward situation of correcting her after too much time) to be called by my name, a name that is truly me?  

My name is important to me, and always has been.  Growing up I was "Kati," a name which still has a lot of family value for me.  But as I got into my late teens, and especially in college, I really started identifying myself more as "Kateri" - a name with a lot of value of its own, value I wanted to be mine, and therefore loved that my name meant something to me and called me to something more.  Every time I hear or say my name, I am reminded to be a saint, to live for something bigger than myself. 

That, in a very brief nutshell, is what my name means to me.  So when it came time to name our soon-to-be-born children, I really struggled.  I knew how valuable the right name could be (and being called "Katrina" for years has reminded me of how frustrating the wrong name can be).  I knew how important it was that the name we give our children be names that fit them and their unique selves, but also that form them and call them into something.  Hopefully something beautiful. 

It's too soon to tell for sure if we did Adrian and Lilly's naming well, though I'd like to think that so far at least our little ones certainly fit their names (Adrian Donald the "gentle leader" and Lilly Elizabeth the "strong woman, promise of GOD").  I'd like to think we named all three of our children well.  

Our first baby was the easiest to name.  We had a name all picked out for her.  But then came May of 2009, when we found out that our 12 week in-utero baby no longer had a heartbeat.  And for a while, my heart stopped too.  It is hard to describe how much it hurts, missing someone you never knew.  And yet, as a mother, somehow I already did know my little one.  I knew in my heart, though no ultrasounds had shown us yet, that it was a little girl.  I knew in my heart that she was going to be sweet and beautiful.  I knew in my heart that she would be daddy's little girl.  I knew in my heart that she would be loved.  And it broke me that I never got to prove my heart right, by sharing her with the world!  And so, my heart stopped.  It stopped being joyful, it stopped being happy, it stopped being hopeful....until it came time to name our child.  

And in this first naming experience, I did not struggle.  Somehow, along with all I knew in my heart about her, we both knew in our hearts what our daughter's name was:

Esperanza.

Esperanza means "hope" in Spanish.  And though it was not anywhere near the name we had picked out for her originally, this name fit her.  And this name has made her into something so much greater than just herself.  Through her name, my daughter helped me find hope again, and eventually along with it the joy and happiness after that very dark period in my life.  Through her name, my little angel has helped me remain hopeful in so many other areas, including future dark periods, of my life - and especially in my motherhood.  Through her name, my daughter is hope and brings hope and makes me want to be hope. She is, in my heart and in how she lives on in my life, something beautiful.  And so with her, I know we did her naming very well.  

It's amazing all that can be in a name - the right name at least.  

.  .  .  .  .  . 

October 15th is a day very near and dear to my heart.  Unlike Christmas, Halloween or my husband's birthday, this one is not a holiday I look forward to, yet one that since that difficult May of 2009 has become a day always marked on my calendar...and more permanently, on my heart.  October 15th is National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day.   Many of my dear family and friends have also lost their babies due to miscarriage, some before and some after me.  And countless more strangers have lost theirs to miscarriage, stillbirth, SIDS or other far too early ends to their precious little ones' lives in this world.  For all you women (and men) out there who have lost your babies, at any stage too early, please know that my prayers are with you today.  

Prayers for Hope!